I lived just right around the corner. In fact, I didn't even ride my bicycle to her shop, because the walk was not that much longer than having to mess with my bicycle and riding gear. As I walked home my thought process about the big dilemma that was facing me was interrupted by the strange sensation that I was tripping somewhat over my pants.

That was just too odd. I had figured that what I had been experiencing before - the semblance that she had grown and I had shrunken - really had been my imagination, because it was just that unbelievable. But here was the proof of it. Those pants really had been a good fit for me, and now I was swimming in them.

While college professors have the reputation for being somewhat forgetful or absent-minded, I had always prided myself on my ability to generally keep a clear head about things. I could analyze matters by separating out different questions, and then coming to a logical conclusion.

Question: was I actually smaller than I had been?

Well, it sure seemed that way, and my observation of my pants being larger than they had been seemed to support the thesis.

Question: What was the cause of the aforementioned change in body height and volume?

Well, it sure seemed to happen when she sucked all the cum out of me and then some. The laws of thermodynamics suggested that the total quantity of matter and energy were a constant, and what I had lost in body mass she looked to have gained. While it seemed absurd that it could happen, the evidence suggested that it could.

Question: would I be happier as a college professor or as a hairdresser's slave?

This depended on which theory of human behavior was applied. Certainly an economist would say that it was not rational for a person to exchange a position of modest-but-certain income to one in which he would actually become the property of another. Psychologists, however, made a living out of the diagnosis that humans were not rational beings. Sociologists, on the other hand, envisioned a completely different form of human rationale: people wanted to have status within a group...

And so I kept on with a dithering, intellectual thought process until I found that I had arrived at my front door.

What would I do now? I was supposed to be working on a course module for the upcoming week, but she had told me to rethink my life and return to her with a check for all of my money. It then dawned on me: not all of the money in my bank account was my own. After all, I was a married man, and most of that money was my wife's.

Yes, indeed, this whole time I had not given a second thought to the fact that I had just become a despicable adulterer for even so much as having my hair dresser go down on me, much less engineering to become her slave and planning to give her all of the money in my marriage's joint bank account. I had also not given any thought to the fact that she knew I was married, and had even given my wife a haircut once or twice.

But that blow job had indeed been the most amazing sexual experience of my life, and my subsequent submission to her had been the most enticing psychological experience I had ever had.

*******

I opened the door to the salon.

There she was, working on an older lady's grey coiffure.

"Welcome back!" she said, with the tone of voice she would have had, had nothing happened, just an hour before.

Had I imagined it?

"Did you bring the check?"

Nope, I had not imagined it.

I nodded.

"Good, then run the broom while I finish up here."

I was dumbfounded. I had imagined that she and I would be alone for that promised second blow job. Also, when I thought about slavery, I had been thinking sex slave, not broom slave.

"Mark, here, works for me now," she told her customer casually as she continued styling the hair.

I placed the check on her desk and grabbed up the broom that had been propped in the corner.

"Oh, well good for you to be making enough to hire an employee," the customer complimented. "You do such a good job with my hair, you deserve it!"

I began to sweep up some of the loose locks of hair that were strewn around the salon floor.

"Why thank you, ma'am," my hairdresser/mistress replied, "but he's not my employee. He's my slave."

She said it in a matter-of-fact kind of way, that it sounded as if she was pulling her customer's leg.

"Oh, my!" the customer giggled, taking it that way.

"Yeah, I did a job for him that he couldn't afford," she said, while looking at me and winking.

The customer left the matter at that, and the hair cut continued until it was done. I dutifully did all the sweeping. Once accounts were settled, the customer left, satisfied with a good hair dressing.

"That's my last appointment for the day," Jo Anna announced. "Go ahead and turn off that open sign, lock the door, and we'll get to our business."

She sounded just as if I really were her employee, and it was the end of a regular working day. I did as she told me, while she picked up the check and sat down in her own dressing chair.

"Wow, you really don't make much as a college professor, do you?" she commented, looking at the number on the check.

It was true. My income was pretty pathetic for the amount of education I had to have in order to do the job. It still stung to hear it said, though.

"Before anything else, I've been on my feet all day, and I want to take a load off."

Before she could say anything else, I took the initiative. I knelt back down at her feet. I held out my hands, suggesting that I give her feet a massage.

"If I may?"

"You may," she replied.

I took off her sandals, placing one of her feet on my leg, while the other I began massaging. Her feet really were large and powerful, but still well kept. They had strong muscles and thick but not too calloused skin. I could really work them with my hands without fear of being too tough on them. While I did so, she grabbed her notebook and typed something in while looking at my check.

"Stop for a sec.," she said, turning the notepad towards me. It was the login screen for my bank.

"I want to make sure that the money's for real."

I let go of her foot for a moment, which she set down on my other leg. I typed in the login, from where she could see that the checking account had exactly the number on the check, and the money in savings had been moved over to checking.

She looked at it.

"Wow, you're really for real aren't you?" she said more than asked.

"Yes, ma'am," I said, sheepishly.

"Good, then you may continue," she said, after which I put my hands back to work.

"You may think that this wraps it up, but what you've written me is just money."

I looked confused. It was more than just money. It was all of the money - mine and my wife's. If she cashed that check, my marriage was over. Admittedly, my marriage was not in that great of a shape, or else I would not have been seduced by my hairdresser in the first place, but it was not a great way to end the marriage.

Before I could ask her to explain, there was a knock on the door. I figured it was just a customer hoping that she wasn't closed, but she sat up and pulled her feet off my legs.

"Get that," she commanded.

I stood up and unlocked the door. Opening it, I saw an attractive professional woman. When she saw me, she smirked, before walking past me into the salon.

"So, it's done?" She asked Jo Anna.

"Yup, there he is," she said nodding at me, "and here's this."

Jo Anna showed her the check.

I was dumb-founded. What was going on here?

"Dr. Hardt," the woman said, using my name and extending her hand by way of greeting me. "I'm Rita Rodriguez, and I represent the joint interest of Ms. Bishop and your wife."

I shook her hand out of reflex and I tried to figure out what this was. Ms. Bishop? that was Jo Anna's last name. Her and my wife's 'joint interests?' What the hell could that mean? My wife and my mistress/hairdresser had joint interests?

"I expect that this takes you by surprise, but your activities of this afternoon did not take any of us by surprise," she said. "In fact, we counted on it."

"Your infidelity towards Mrs. Hardt with Ms. Bishop, as well as the payment of a sum not fully yours to pay constitutes the material breach of your marriage with Mrs. Hardt."

"She now has grounds to file for a divorce and sue for damages and arrears," Ms. Rodriguez continued. "We are hoping to forego a lengthy legal process which you would lose and would make me far richer than either Mrs. Hardt or Ms. Bishop intend."

I was too stunned to offer any resistance or even comment.

"With all of the money that your wife has fronted for your education and upkeep over the years, in addition to the sums which you have just paid to Ms. Bishop, would put you significantly further in debt than you already are - not to mention any court costs. We suggest that this all gets settled by your agreement to - A - the divorce, and - B - a perpetual-term labor contract with Ms. Bishop."

"Perpetual-term labor contract" - that sounded suspiciously like slavery.

"I've already drawn up the necessary paperwork. All you need to do is sign."

"As intriguing as that sounds," I said, feeling perhaps a bit more intellectually confident than I should have, "it's pretty clear that it cannot be a legal contract, since 'perpetual-term labor contracts', or indenture contracts, are illegal. The Thirteenth Amendment..."

"...blah, blah, blah," Ms. Rodriquez interrupted. "I know the law. You might not be aware of the specifics of the Bankruptcy Abuse Prevention and Consumer Protection Act of 2005, which..."

I actually had heard of this law. It effectively meant that one could not declare bankruptcy on student debt. While my wife had helped me through grad school, federal student loans had also played a big part. Also, in my household, my wife did the accounting, and I had not paid attention to it in years. I had seen the occasional envelope from the American Education Services, which was the public loan-servicing corporation through which I had gotten my loans, but I honestly did not know how much I still owed. It had been quite a few years since I had finished.

"...Oh? Perhaps you have?" Ms. Rodriguez asked, as she saw my facial expression change to one of concern. "That's right ? you owe enough to put you in debt forever, and the way the loans have been handled means that you don't meet the Brunner test."

"You really should have paid attention to that," she said in an even more condescending way than she had already been sounding.

"But you didn't," she stated, "which brings us here. So, you can either get slapped with having to pay for the divorce when my client has me sue your pants off, during which I would ruin what academic reputation you have, after which you declare bankruptcy and are then basically owned by the feds - who aren't the nicest people right now when it comes to the indigent - think: starving and dying of disease on the street - OR, you can actually do what you actually want to do: become Ms. Bishop's slave."

Just after she said that, I was taken by surprise by a firm hand on my shoulder. Jo Anna had come up behind me. With her hand she pulled me back towards her. I could feel, and hear, her breath on my ear. I was reminded how large she was, especially after whatever had happened before to make her even larger.

"She actually told me about your little fetishes, you know," Jo Anna said into my ear. "She didn't understand them, but I do."

While I knew my kinks, I also knew that there was a difference between what I felt I wanted, and what real slavery was like. Kink slavery, despite what it purported to be, was still about the submissive's desires. The domme needed to perform to meet those. In real slavery, the sub's needs really were disregarded. She didn't have to behave in a sexy manner, as she would be entirely free to be authentically cruel, or even just passionlessly utilitarian about it - using me for grueling or boring chores that had no more sex appeal than washing dishes or scrubbing floors.

"That's right," she said, as if reading my mind, "you'd be completely at my mercy, and I wouldn't have to be merciful."

Of course, the way she said it, with her breath flowing down my spine, and her large body hovering behind me, eager to take possession of me, made me want to give in.

"You know that she's right," Jo Anna continued. "You WANT to belong to me."

She then turned me around, so I was no longer facing the impatient Ms. Rodriguez, but instead looking right at Jo Anna's mouth. She put her hand on my cheek.

"And,..." she said, giving me a good glimpse into her mouth, "we're going to continue where we left off, because I'm not done sucking you up."

That was it, I couldn't hold it any longer. The temptation was simply too great. I bowed my head, and slowly dropped down to my knees. Her hand went from my cheek to rest on my head.

"Good boy," she said softly.